"Make it five and send one of your boys up here. I have a package for him." Fiske switched off and turned to Pedersen. "Have someone go to my quarters and get that roll of sound tape out of my locker. It's in the upper left compartment. Give it to George's man when he shows up." He looked at Pedersen's puzzled expression and grinned. "We're not licked yet, Oley."
"Enemy has matched component," the talker said.
"Down two shades—and keep changing our course. Don't follow one line for more than ten seconds," Fiske ordered.
"That gives us about four more drops before we breakout," the pilot's voice said over the speaker. "And we can't dodge too long. He can outmaneuver us, and ride us right out of Cth."
"How long?"
"Maybe five minutes—maybe less."
"Well—get on with it—we can't stay here"—Fiske looked glumly at the control board. There was nothing he could do at the moment.
"Aye sir." The red monochrome deepened a trifle as the "Dauntless" dropped closer to breakout.
"Damn—they're quick!" Fiske muttered.
"We're not going to be here long at this rate," Pedersen observed.